The post I had planned to put up today kinda fell through.
So instead I’ll depart from the calendar entries for a week, and put up a particularly nice photo of my grandpa and I.
I haven’t written much about my direct interactions with my grandfather. That’s because the calendar entries on which this blog is based end in December 1975, when I was two-and-a-half years old. There are no items on his calendars that I remember firsthand.
I also don’t specifically remember the circumstances of this picture, which was taken by my father sometime around 1981 in the dining room at Hope Street.
But it’s a nice example of intergenerational connection, anyway.
I don’t know why my grandpa would have gotten splinter duty, as opposed to my mom or grandma. Perhaps because he was a cool-headed and methodical sort, with a businesslike bedside manner.
You can see he’s put on a pair of glasses over his pair of glasses, so as to get the best possible view of the delicate surgery involving his grandson.
And certainly, the expressions of all involved reflect the weight of the situation.
The little kid with the puddin’-bowl haircut seems to be asking, “Will I ever play the violin again, Doctor?” And the older man with the thinning hair is responding, “Tough case. But signs point to yes.”
Clearly the healing mojo in those bony hands worked, as I am alive, well, and blogging today. (I no longer play the violin. But that is no great loss to humanity.)
I can imagine the gentle firmness of his hands and the quiet of his concentration, even if I don’t specifically remember the moment.
It is a wonderfully comforting thing to a child to know that multiple generations of his family are there to help him.
It sorta makes him feel like, no matter what he runs into, there is someone there who can guide him through it — maybe Mom one day, maybe Grandpa the next. They can’t (and won’t) get him off the hook, necessarily, but they will at least help him understand what’s going on.
I am still decades away from being able to offer that kind of support to grandchildren, if I have any.
I kinda hope I do.
Hope Street 